


watching you watching me

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, and what abt that 8 inch height difference folks........., bc seth is smooth!, the overarching theme of this fic is staring at cam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: “You’re staring again.”Seth blows out a breath. “It’s a little hard not to.”





	watching you watching me

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone asks, the blue jackets have full permission to shoot me

Cam Atkinson is the type of boy Seth knew he’d go after the minute he laid eyes on him. This easy-going guy with a smile that could rival the sun and eyes brimming with joy enough that Seth can never tell if he’s anything but happy. Even when he’s staring up at Coach, who’s beating his shit in for fucking up a play, or telling the team how _not_ to perform a penalty kill and using them as an example, or picking away at that shutout loss, his expression is always set. Sturdy. But his eyes—his eyes are a window to everything else. 

Cam’s the kind of guy you take one look at and just _trust_. He’s got that look to him, those rounded edges, that easy smile, his soft words. Seth’s been wrapped up around his finger since the day he was traded, the day he stepped foot in Columbus and realized this was him. 

It wouldn’t have been easy to avoid, but he tries. Because Cam’s nothing but hockey and Seth’s the one with awful lingering glances and stolen looks that never seem to end. Trying was never _not_ an option. It’s like: if he stops trying, this becomes something else. And Seth can’t let that happen. 

Cam’s the one without any sense of personal boundaries, who always gets too close in the locker room. He’ll make Seth’s face burn while he laughs at jokes right on the edge of bros. Like, “y’know, I’m basically at dick height,” Cam says, his voice coming out in a lazy drawl when he points to his mouth. And then at Seth. A little lower than he’d hope. “Ever need’a take the edge off, you just tell me.” 

“Hey, no touching the kid,” Brandon all but shouts from across the locker room. Because involving everyone in this is extremely necessary and why wouldn’t Seth get traded to a team just to be perpetually embarrassed. The hockey gods would never do him that right. 

“You can’t even get it up, old man. Go fuck your hat,” Cam snaps. It’s something in the way he says it, how everything rolls off his voice sounding friendly, that Seth wouldn’t have thought it was even an insult if he wasn’t paying attention. 

Brandon looks up from tying his skates, and Seth’s still trapped in the middle of this so he decides to occupy himself with balling up his tape. He hopes he doesn’t look as stupid as he feels. “This is why I’m requesting a trade and you’re not coming with me,” Brandon says.

Cam looks confused, and then, “ _nobody’s_ coming with you, Mr. ‘I need viagra to get my dick hard.’”

“Isn’t he, like, barely three years older than you,” Seth interjects, because it’s true, and this was his problem to begin with. 

“I thought you were on my side here, man.” Cam’s frowning at him like he’s really trying to break a couple hearts like that, and. Yeah, Seth totally gets where he’s coming from. 

“Win me over first,” Seth says, and throws his bag over his shoulder. “Or is that too much work?“ 

Cam pops his bottom lip way out, pouting like a child. It’s just he’s really fucking short, so that whole thought makes the situation even funnier. In Seth’s head, at least. “Gotta give me a chance,” Cam says—jokes. Because they’re just jokes, always ill-timed, poorly thought out jokes, strung one to another.

Seth can’t pretend it’s real. He’s gotta try not to pretend. Because that wouldn’t help anything, if Seth gave in and really tried this. “Not that easy, short stuff.” 

“ _Hey_ , low blow.” 

“Low blow? Is that what you call a blowjob?” Seth shrugs at him, trying not to let his lips curl up while Cam rolls his eyes. “You know, because you’re short—“

“Just gotta stop eating your Wheaties, big guy, make things a little easier on the rest of us.” Cam’s smiling again, that same bright smile that Seth’s come to be oh-so-familiar with over the time he’s spent in Columbus.

Seth watches him, and Cam’s got a little mark under his right eye. There’s a strand of wet hair falling over his forehead, slipping, slipping, slipping. He looks exhausted, grinning through it like they’ve known each other for years.

Seth’s staring, he thinks he’s staring. He’s not sure how to stop, not really. 

“Hey, if smurf boy’s giving you trouble, you let me know, yeah?” Brandon knocks his shoulder against Seth’s because can actually reach, and throws his jersey at Cam. It catches on his face, and Brandon laughs, bright and easy, all the way to the showers. 

“I’m not giving you trouble,” Cam protests, looking disgusted as he holds Brandon’s jersey away from his face. “Right? No trouble.”

“No way, yeah, you’re an angel.” It’s lazy, how he says it, and that’s definitely intentional because it gets Cam to gape at him just a little.

“I’m _nice_.” He glances down at the jersey, then back up at Seth. “Here, wanna take this to the bin? It’s good juju.”

“Brandon’s sweaty jersey is good juju,” Seth says skeptically, not believing it even as it comes out of his own mouth. “Also—did you say juju? It’s not 1970.”

“I’m trying to be nice.”

“No thank you,” Seth says, tipping his chin towards the bin, because he’s gonna say something stupid if he keeps talking to the guy who’d jokingly offered him head moments ago. “Take the trash out yourself.” 

Cam huffs, but goes. 

 

 

When it counts, Seth can actually keep his eyes to himself. In bathrooms, waiting rooms, the subway. He’s not completely hopeless. Stuff like that is second nature, what you were raised on. Staring is impolite, and easily enough, you shouldn’t fucking do it.

But it gets difficult. It gets really, really difficult when the person you’re staring at doesn’t call you out. Like when Seth lets himself watch Cam, watch the way his mouth moves when he speaks, how his lips curl around the words that roll so sweetly off his tongue. It’s just _right_ , everything about him. 

And then there are those moments when Cam’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving his mouth shiny, and Seth wants to look _anywhere_ else, but he can’t. He can’t, because he’s busy admiring Cam. He’s busy telling himself he’s pushing this too far, but it’s hard to swallow down urges like that. 

Urges like wanting to get his mouth on Cam, to keep him for himself, to pull him in and just hold on. It’s the part where he doesn’t have him that drives him crazy. And Seth isn’t planning on doing anything about it. 

It’s just. They’re teammates. Fuck—they’re _teammates_. 

“—the entire cup, Z knocked over the entire thing and, like. I didn’t even wanna ask?” Luc’s saying over team dinner, adding onto his story about ruining lives with Zach or something. Whatever. Seth wants to listen just so he’s got ammo on the guy, but he’s sitting just diagonal of Cam.

His teeth are bright against the soft pink of his lips, digging in while he stares down at his phone, fingers scrolling. Seth blinks, counts down in his head. Three seconds and he’ll look away is what he convinces himself of. 

That doesn’t work, which isn’t a shocker. It never works. 

“You’re exaggerating,” Zach cuts in, looking betrayed. “The waiter cleaned up the table. It was fine.” 

“You got coffee all over his shoes, of course he’d clean it up,” Luc says. “Dude, it was straight out of one of those awful comedy sketches, with the laugh tracks and shit, you know those.” Luc’s waving his hand around like he’s trying to summon the picture to mind, and Zach knits his brows together. 

They keep arguing about it, altering the story, and Seth should be the one to break this up. His whole role here is to call them both stupid, that’s always been his part, breaking this shit up. 

But there’s Cam. Cam with his pretty eyes, and soft lips, and perfect smile, and Seth doesn’t look away nearly quickly enough when he catches his gaze, but it’s okay. 

They don’t talk about it. And that’s as far as they ever go. 

 

 

Cam is stupidly prone to short jokes, especially when he’s around Seth, because. Like. Have you met him.

It never really gets to Cam, even if he might laugh and claim to be average height or tell Seth he’s just too tall. Even if, obviously, both of those work.

But Seth—he likes that Cam’s short. He likes how well he fits next to him, when Cam’s head is on his shoulder and he can slot in next to him like it’s nothing more than second nature. And with the way they act around each other, getting close without second thought, Seth gets to see a lot of that. 

Like, for example, Seth jokingly patting his lap for Cam to take a seat and Cam sometimes _taking_ that seat. If they didn’t know better, people would think they’re dancing around each other.

Seth could wish that’s how it was. He could let it get to him, how bad he wants that, how not having Cam makes his stomach contort unpleasantly. But he doesn’t. Because they’re friends, and that’s just how it is. 

Maybe in some other universe, where they aren’t hockey players. Where they can be themselves with no strings attached, where it’s fine to want to choose Cam, hold Cam, love _Cam_. 

But it’s not like that here. Not yet. Not when the shit that floats around the league still makes its round, and Seth just. Can’t. 

 

 

It’s Cam who cracks. After dinner with just a smaller group of friends this time. When he pulls Seth aside afterwards, his eyes bright under street lamps.

“It’s okay. When you look at me, it’s okay,” is what he says, his fingers curled so loosely around Seth’s wrist that it nearly feels like nobody’s there. Seth wishes it was like that, that nobody really was there. 

Even if that’s not really how it is. They’re in a dark parking lot outside of a restaurant where the rest of the guys have already scattered into their cars, but Cam is here. He’s here with Seth, something careful draped over his expression, and Seth blinks at the ground. Once. Twice.

“It’s not,” he says. “Not really, it was never okay. You know that.” 

“Seth,” Cam breathes out, and his voice is soft. Gentle and easy. Seth wishes he could hate the sound of his own name on Cam’s tongue, as if it didn’t send a stream of warmth trailing down his spine. “It’s okay. To look. To want things.”

Seth’s mouth twists into a frown. “Is it. Can it really be okay.” It’s not a question. A question would need hope, optimism, something to look towards. But this comes out bland, flat. 

“If that’s what you want,” he says. “Is it what you want?” 

Seth’s mouth feels dry, his tongue like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He’s not sure. He’s never been sure. So, “I don’t know,” he says simply. “I—I don’t.”

“That’s okay,” Cam tells him gently. He lets his wrist go right after, tucking his hands back into his jacket pockets like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. Seth hates the way he’s looking at him, like Seth’s a sad puppy who can’t take care of himself. “Seth, you—if you ever want to talk about this. Any of this, just. Come to me, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Seth watches him leave, lets his eyes glue themselves to Cam until he knows he’s lingered long enough. 

He’s alone with his thoughts when he gets in his car, but what good does that do if none of them make any sense. If he can barely stand them. 

It’s right to stay away, he tries telling himself, but he doesn’t know how anymore.

 

 

It might be because he shows up at Cam’s house after practice that he feels a little jittery. He’s not stopping by uninvited, not when Cam had leaned in close after practice, up on the balls of his feet, and said, “you should come over.” 

It was in a flash of seconds, like if Seth would’ve focused in on anything else he would’ve missed it. He wasn’t sure about how to interpret the tone of Cam’s voice, or whether he was imagining the way it made butterflies spur up in his stomach, but he knows one thing.

He came. He walks up to Cam’s door and leaves him three knocks to answer to, which he does. 

There’s this lazy smile on his lips, and he’s in sweats and a team issued shirt. It’s a little tighter than Seth would prefer, like, for his sanity. But he offers up a small, “hey,” anyways.

“Hi.” Cam lets him in, and then—it’s him who’s crowding Seth. Cam who barely comes up to Seth’s chin making him feel like he’s not even getting enough air to breathe, let alone have to deal with this. 

“I wanted to see you,” Cam says. “To talk, after the other night.”

Seth’s eyes flick down at him, and Cam’s smile is hesitant. Not worried, just careful. Not as full or intense as it would usually be. But he looks good, he always does. It’s probably hard for Cam _not_ to look good. 

“Hey,” he says. “You’re staring again.”

Seth blows out a small breath. “It’s a little hard not to.” 

That makes Cam’s lips quirk up, something sweet hidden under that look in his eyes. Something different, _new_ , and Seth’s caught up thinking about it. 

Then it’s Cam’s hand on his chest, his focus trained on Seth’s face like he’s studying him. It’s more than difficult to miss. The way Cam can make him feel so small when he knows just how Seth feels. When he knows what he’s kept all locked up.

“If it’s what you want,” Cam starts. “You should kiss me.” His eyes are hopeful, though something smaller than Seth is used to. It’s private, like a whisper between just the two of them, and Seth likes the thought of that. Keeping this to just themselves.

Seth opens his mouth, and his head’s giving him nothing to say. His thoughts are blank, aside from the ones goading him on. The ones persistently pushing him, telling him to do this. 

Cam’s eyes move over his face, and Seth lets out a quiet, “you don’t owe me anything.”

“You’re right,” Cam says, although he doesn’t move. “But. If you’ve ever thought you owe me a favour, if I’ve ever done something that got you thinking you owe me a debt, I’d like to cash that in now.” His mouth curls up at one end, and it gets Seth to smile too. There’s that tension between them that finally snaps, and Seth can do this.

He can put his hand on Cam’s cheek and lean down to meet him. Seth can let himself have this, because he might not get it again. 

Cam kisses him gingerly, and it’s better than being eager or desperate, it’s softer. It gives Seth time, and that’s all he wants. To have all the time in the world just to kiss Cam, to put his hands on him and hold him close and never forget this feeling. The press of Cam’s mouth against his, the soft slide of his lips. It makes him wish this didn’t have to end.

Cam’s smiling when he pulls back to scan his face, when he’s left with that same look in his eyes. “You’re good at that, y’know.” 

Seth feels a smile tug at his lips, and he lets it go. He feels like he can do that with Cam, smile after kissing him, letting his thumb trace his bottom lip. “You are too, I mean, I’ve wanted this. For a long time. You made that worth it.

Cam blows out a small huff of laughter. “You made it obvious.”

Seth likes to think he had it in him to actually speak after kissing Cam, whether or not it’s all he’s wanted since he was traded. But then Cam’s lips part just slightly against the thumb Seth’s got on his lip, and Seth blinks. He doesn’t say anything, just pushes a little further, lets Cam take it into his mouth and. “Fuck,” he says, eloquently as always.

When he looks up, they meet eyes, and Cam presses his tongue against Seth’s thumb, _watching_ him like it’s nothing. Seth thinks he could let Cam do this all day if he wanted to, if Seth got to admire. Which.

“Yeah?” Cam asks, when he pulls off. “Or do you wanna take me to my room? I can show you some tricks.”

Seth swallows, and, “yeah,” he says, “we—yeah, that sounds good.”

 

 

When Seth wakes up in the morning, he’s not too sure what time it is until he glances around the room looking for a clock and ultimately lands on the one sitting on the bedside table, the one with red digits counting up, and up. 

Cam’s right beside him, breathing slow. They’ve both got clothes on, boxers, and that sends Seth reminders of Cam between his legs in flashes. That’s how the memory comes, in little flickers of reminders, feelings that stir up in the back of his head along with the tape that plays. 

Seth could leave. He could be _that_ guy, but he isn’t. He doesn’t. Because—Seth likes Cam, he thinks. He likes him a lot, enough to wanna stay by his side, to throw an arm over his waist and tuck his face into the back of his neck. To stay. 

Cam shifts and puts his hand on Seth’s giving it this small squeeze. “Glad you’re here,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. He tips his head just so his neck is all the more exposed to Seth.

“Glad you want me here,” he returns, and puts his mouth on the line of Cam’s neck. They don’t talk about avoiding marks, but Seth knows it well enough to keep his bites light, just the skim of teeth or an open mouthed kiss. 

Cam hums, his breath coming out on this side of shaky. Seth wonders if he can feel his smile on his neck. “Gotta let me go so I can make breakfast,” Cam says, even if he sounds a little reluctant as well. Leaving now sounds like a punishment, leaving a _warm_ bed. 

Seth tightens his arm just a little, laughing against Cam’s skin. “Just a little longer, c’mon.” 

“You have way too much power here.” 

“Got something a lot better than breakfast, is it wrong I wanna stick around?” Seth asks, and the bite he leaves makes Cam gasp. It’s high on his neck, practically under his ear.

“Fuck you, you already know me too well,” Cam complains, but he doesn’t make a move to get out from underneath the sheets. Instead, he shifts a little closer to Seth, letting out this content little sigh. “Just five more minutes.”

“Mhm,” Seth agrees. “Five more minutes.”


End file.
